


You Light Me Up Inside

by LonghornLetters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, I Love You, M/M, Sherlock listens to pop on YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonghornLetters/pseuds/LonghornLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief snapshot of what happens when you mix a blogger, a consulting detective, and an extremely catchy pop song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Light Me Up Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Becky G's "Shower" this evening, and this story literally jumped out of me. Super helpful beta-on-the-fly work from Kestrel337.

John dragged himself up the stairs after a truly hellish day at work. He was fairly certain every hypochondriac in NW1 had chosen that exact day to descend on the clinic to seek treatment for their maladies. It couldn’t be helped, he supposed. The tipping point when autumn turned into winter brought a damp chill to the air that seeped under coat collars and into bones. Days like this called for a long, hot bath and, if he played his cards right, a snuggle under a blanket on the couch.

When he reached the landing, John became aware of music coming from somewhere in the flat. The very obvious beat meant it didn’t sound like either his or Sherlock’s normal taste in music, so John’s curiosity was piqued.

Standing in the empty sitting room, the music was louder, and coming from the loo, where John could hear the song mixing with the pounding of the shower. He smirked when he heard the distinctive sound of Sherlock’s smooth baritone mixing with the sugary pop tune in perfect harmony. It wasn’t until he was standing right outside the bathroom door that he could distinguish the actual words.

_Don’t care what others say_   
_If I’ve got you I’m straight_   
_You bring my heart to life_

John smiled. Sherlock the sociopath, indeed. He beat a silent retreat to the kitchen where he proceeded to make tea as noisily as he possibly could because if there was one thing that would guarantee a cancellation of any repeat performance it was Sherlock thinking John was laughing at his expense.

Sherlock emerged in a cloud of steam a repeat and a half of the song later in pyjama pants and his blue silk dressing gown still humming under his breath.

“Oh, John, I didn’t know you were home.”

John stepped around the table to hand him a mug of tea, “I just got in. Work was murder. Everyone and their mum either has flu or wants to use it as an excuse to skive off. No clients, then?”

“Do you imagine I’d go out into the street dressed like this?” Sherlock asked with a smile and an eye roll as he flopped down on the sofa.

“True. After all, you’re the only person I know who owns a designer scarf.” John brought his own mug over and sat down next to Sherlock with a sigh. “God I’m glad to be home.”

Sherlock, knowing without having to ask, reached over and grabbed the stripey afghan that normally lay in their spare armchair and wrapped them up in it. Once they were cocooned against the chill, Sherlock sighed softly and laid his head down on John’s shoulder. Sitting together in the late afternoon silence of the flat while the world passed by outside their window, John picked up the tune Sherlock had been signing earlier.

“What were you singing earlier?” John asked, stopping himself humming it.

“What? Oh, just something I heard on a walk. Irritatingly persistent,” Sherlock said with a note of exasperation that sounded rather forced to John’s ear.

“Ah. I see.” John did. He pulled himself up threw a leg over Sherlock’s lap to straddle him so he could envelop him into a proper hug. John let his forehead rest on Sherlock’s shoulder. This was just what he’d wanted, to come home to something warm and quiet and lovely.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was a quiet rumble in the deepening twilight of their sitting room.

“Hmm?” John had let his eyes slip closed and he had turned his face into the curve of Sherlock’s neck, letting the smell of his soap and skin erase the last vestiges of tension from work.

Sherlock’s arms tightened around John’s waist, “John, I love you.”

Three simple words. Words people used every day to describe all manner of things. Not Sherlock, though. John had to blink quickly to clear his vision.

“I love you too, Sherlock,” John murmured softly. He leaned up and planted a single, chaste kiss at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth before settling back the way he had been.

They would eventually get up, move back into their evening routine of dinner, blogs, and late night telly before collapsing into bed, but this, now, this was what singers on YouTube meant when they said,

_There ain’t no guarantee,  
But I’ll take a chance on ‘we’_


End file.
